


The Second Christmas

by AJWmagickl



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Desus Writing Group, M/M, OFC is Daryl's mom, Post-All Out War, References to Past Child/Spousal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 03:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8874148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJWmagickl/pseuds/AJWmagickl
Summary: She woke him with a gentle finger pressed against his lips.  “Shhhhh…baby, wake up.”
“Momma? What’s wrong?”  His voice was less than a whisper as he turned in his bed with a start, eyes wide.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at anything for the Desus Writing Group so I hope I'm doing it right. I also hope I can cross off two bingo squares with one fic, since "Tree" was the square I started with but somehow "Christmas Song" ended up in there too.

She woke him with a gentle finger pressed against his lips. “Shhhhh…baby, wake up.”

“Momma? What’s wrong?” His voice was less than a whisper as he turned in his bed with a start, eyes wide.

Got a surprise for ya." She wore a rare smile and Daryl relaxed. The room, dark except for the light from the waxing moon that hung high in the sky outside his window, told him it was the wee hours of the morning. His blue eyes met his mother's in an unspoken question. 

"C'mon, my angel. It's Christmas!" Her hand enveloped his as she pulled him from his warm bed and into the living room. Sandy blond hair stuck out in every direction as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. He looked to the couch first, and found it empty. 

"Your daddy ain't here, sugar. And your brother is still sleepin', so we gotta stay quiet like two little Christmas mice." She nodded toward the corner of the room. 

Daryl yawned and was wondering why there was such a thing as Christmas mice and why they were quieter than regular mice, when he saw it, propped precariously on a table, looking like something straight out of Charlie Brown.

A Christmas tree. Sort of.

It lacked decoration, and was already lazily dropping dried needles onto the worn floral sheet that his mother had wrapped around the base. The tree was not much taller than he was, and he was short for his age, but the table gave it height. The heavy scent of pine filled the corner of the living room and Daryl smiled up at his mother.

She led him the few steps into the kitchen with a whisper. “There’s more, come in here, wait ‘til you see.”

Clapping her hands silently in glee, she bounced on her toes as he gasped at the sight of freshly popped popcorn, string, Christmas lights, and some very used but still somewhat shiny ornaments scattered over the kitchen table. There was even silver tinsel, bare in spots and obviously used, but he couldn’t have asked for more. He wouldn’t have.

Moving his gaze from the table to look at his mother, he watched as tendrils of blond hair fell across her cheeks, framing her shining eyes, and suddenly she was the most unexpected thing in the room. 

He’d never seen her so happy. He’d rarely seen her happy at all. It didn’t escape his notice that she didn’t smell of alcohol, and that was something scarcer than her smiles.

He spent the next hour in a wobbly wooden chair at the table, his thin body curled warmly into his mother’s lap, knees up and small feet clad with mismatched socks resting on her knees. They strung popcorn and sipped hot chocolate and threaded rusty hooks onto Christmas balls. 

He didn’t think once about the too many times that he’d sat with her at this very table in the late hours of night, cleaning her wounds, icing her bruises, wiping tears from her face as she finished off yet another bottle of wine.

No, this was Christmas, and although it wasn’t the first time Christmas that had graced the calendar in his short life, it his first Christmas nonetheless. 

They finished at the table and hauled everything into the living room to decorate the tree. Half the lights were out but enough remained to make the tiny evergreen twinkle. As a last surprise, his mother reached between the worn cushions on the couch and pulled out an angel, complete with halo and gold glittered wire wings. It wasn’t new, but it wasn’t broken, and she lifted Daryl in her arms so he could place it atop the tree.

They stayed for a moment, his arms tight around her neck, staring at something that looked remarkably like Christmas right here in their little broken down house in the woods.

“Thanks, momma.”, he whispered into her ear.

She hummed. “You’re welcome, my angel.”

She ran fingers lightly through his hair and sang an unfamiliar carol, while they sat on the couch and finished off the leftover popcorn. Daryl dozed off watching patterns of red, green and blue lights reflecting off the brown paneled walls. 

The next morning he awoke in his bed and ran into the living room with bright eyes, only to find his father, stinking of whiskey and snoring on the couch, and no sign of the tree except for a trail of brown needles leading to the front door. 

He found it in a heap of junk on the side of the house, surrounded by the broken glass of ornaments, birds already swooping in to pick off the popcorn. The angel lay beneath, covered in dirt, its porcelain face in pieces. He pulled off the wings and tucked them in his pocket for safekeeping. Later, he hid them under the mattress in his room, and there they stayed for almost a year, until fire took the house, and the wings, and his mother.

And that’s why, forty years later, when Judith clapped with glee at the sight of the tall pine in Rick’s living room, and when they strung a half-working string of lights and battered ornaments and crappy tinsel that suffered not from use, but from having lived through a war, Daryl Dixon wished his mom was there. 

Paul sat across from him, stringing popcorn, singing merrily with the rest of the group as they fumbled through half-forgotten Christmas carols. 

Daryl felt Paul’s concerned glance on him from time to time, and tried to reassure him with little smiles that didn’t quite meet his own eyes.

“Darey, come help!” came the voice he could never resist. He left the table to peer into the box that Judith had been poking around in, moving a few things around at the top of the box so she could get to whatever it was she had her eye on. She reached her little arm in all the way to her shoulder and pulled out a shiny satin-covered oblong box, opening it to reveal a treetop angel.

It wasn’t old. It wasn’t broken. It had somehow survived intact, even down to its glittered gold wings.

Daryl picked it up reverently. Even Judith must have sensed the change in the air because she didn't reach for it, but instead watched him quietly as he turned the angel over and over in his hand, studying it. Remembering. 

“It’s you!” declared Judith after a moment. And when Daryl looked at her with a question in his eyes, she rubbed her hands over the threadbare wings embroidered on his vest. 

“It’s you.” And this time she whispered, her eyes wide, and he smiled and swept her up in his arms.

‘“You get to do this, L’il A.K.”, he grinned. He’d had to quit calling her L’il Asskicker when she started repeating words. 

He placed the angel in her hands. “Hang on!" He lifted the giggling girl easily to sit on his broad shoulders.

Of course, he noticed that the room became hushed. That the singing had stopped. That all eyes were on him and Judith as she lifted the angel high onto the top of the tree and straightened its wings.

He lowered her to the floor as Rick stepped up to take her hand, and they all stared at the tree in silence, wondering how they made it, how they survived to see Christmas, how much they missed those who didn’t, and were reminded once again of how precious it was to have each other.

Daryl pulled off his vest and folded it, wings up, beneath the tree. “Merry Christmas, Mom.", his voice just below a whisper. 

Arms stretched around him from behind as he straightened, slender hands holding tight to his chest, a bearded chin resting on his shoulder. 

Daryl covered Jesus’ hands with his own and leaned into him, both of them resting their eyes on the angel as Maggie started to sing.

“Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,

Let your heart be light…”

Paul’s voice joined Maggie’s, but so quietly that only Daryl could hear.

“From now on our troubles will be out of sight…”

They knew it wasn’t true, but it felt good to let a glimmer of hope flicker in their chests, if only for a moment. 

"You told me that story," said Paul softly after the last note of the song trailed away. "The one about your mom? And that Christmas? That's what you're thinking about, right?"

A quick nod, and Daryl's eyes cast downward to the vest that lay under the tree. 

"Hey," Paul touched Daryl's chin gently with his finger, turning his head towards him. 

Paul smiled and pressed a tender kiss to Daryl's mouth. "Merry Second Christmas, angel." 

For a long moment, Daryl looked at Paul as if every star in the sky could be found behind his eyes. Then a smile tipped the corners of his mouth. 

"Ain't no angel." He said, his grin widening, turning downright mischievous. 

"Is that right?" Paul's eyes narrowed as he whispered back. "Maybe we should go find some mistletoe."

"Nah. Never needed it before." And with that, Daryl's hand grazed the back of Paul's jeans with just enough force to make the other man jump. 

Paul gasped. "Daryl Dixon, did you just grab my ass in front of god my father and everybody?!"

"Nobody saw."

Then, "Daddy! Unca Darey spanked Unca Jesus!" Judith couldn't have been louder if she'd tried, and suddenly the room fell into another complete silence. 

"Reindeer!" cried Paul nervously, his voice a little too high. "Daryl, I swear I heard reindeer! Did you hear the reindeer? You know what that means, right?"

"Yup, I heard 'em." Daryl's face was stern but he was fighting like hell to keep from laughing at Paul's sorry attempt to deflect the attention. "It means little girls gotta get to bed right away or Santa won't leave no presents." 

He shook a thick finger at Judith, who gasped & ran upstairs without a second thought, yelling goodnight to everyone on her way. 

The sound of her bedroom door slamming brought everyone's attention back to the two men by the tree. 

"Well..." Paul cleared his throat. "I guess we'll just be going now."

He grabbed Daryl's hand and pulled him out the front door to a chorus of Michonne's "Please do" and Morgan's "Remember Santa's keeping a list" and Tara's "I hope you get lube in your stocking!" 

They strolled hand in hand through the deserted street, breath catching the crisp wintry air in clouds, the merriment and tenderness of the evening still lingering between them. Daryl stopped just before Rick's house went out of sight and turned, his eyes lingering on the tree that shone through the front window. 

"It'll be there for her tomorrow, you know." Paul said, gripping his lover's hand tightly.

"We'll be here too, right?" Daryl rasped, emotion thick in his voice. 

"We'll be here too. You and me." Paul slipped his arm into Daryl's, and they walked home.

**Author's Note:**

> I really struggled with this fic, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway. :) even though it starts out serious, I just can't seem to write Daryl & Jesus without throwing mischief & humor in there because I think they could be hilarious together. I love feedback so comment if you will!


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